


Head Over Heels

by JCoop



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is a Minor Character, Angst, Break Up, Breakups, Bruce is Rich, Cancer, Clark is a Reporter, Dancing, Death, Depression, Falling In Love, Fluff, Infidelity, Lots of Angst, Lots of relative sadness, M/M, Maybe porn, Metropolis, Poor Alfred, Poor Lois, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secrets, Sneaking Around, Suit Kink, Superman's got a secret crush, Violence, Wayne Enterprises, Wayne is Expanding his Enterprises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCoop/pseuds/JCoop
Summary: "It's not a problem," the other man says, the voice deep and calm. Clark finds the frames and hurriedly replaces them on his face. They both gather the papers and Clark apologizes again. Once they were all together and at least semi-neat, Clark looked up."Oh my god. You're Bruce Wayne." They both rise, Bruce more elegantly than Clark. By this point, the entire office had gathered to watch the exchange. Usually, handsome and wealthy men don't strut into the Daily Planet. Especially while wearing a suit that could buy the entire office.So basically Kent runs into a hot rich guy and falls in love...





	1. Always Lat(t)e and Running into Things

**Author's Note:**

> So this first chapter is mostly Lois/Clark but it will get better, I promise. Enjoy!

Clark Kent is never on time. It's as simple as that. Like yesterday for example; while walking to work, he stopped to help an old lady cross the street. The day before that, he took down a burglar for a couple and their kid. Need he go further back?

But today, he doesn't have to worry about being late. He can relax. It's Saturday. The best day in existence. Clark can stay in bed and go back to sleep or read a book in the warm light streaming in through the window. After a long day of hard work yesterday, he can spend a day with Lois.

Clark rolls over to gaze at her beautiful, sleepy face and sits up in confusion, the sheets falling off his torso. The bed is cold and empty beside him. He tunes out, listening for movement around the apartment and hears absolutely nothing. That's odd. Maybe she went to the store or the office or something. Giving up on going back to bed, Clark gets up and slides on a pair of sweatpants.

He walks past his desk with stacks of papers (needing to have been edited weeks ago) and softly pads down a small staircase. He enters the kitchen from there and finds a now cold mug of coffee next to the coffee maker.

Lois got the coffee mug for Clark on his birthday last year. It was the same blue of his suit and had the crest of the House of El. They had shared some good laughs about it. Clark lifted the mug and went into the tiny living room/dining room where the TV was playing softly on the News channel. Using the remote, he clicked up the volume and listened intently. He leaned over on the back of the couch and lazily sipped his coffee. After about 10 minutes of non-life-threatening nonsense, Clark got bored. Recently, he'd been reading books by the oldies; Verne, Conan Doyle, Dahl. He reached over to one of the books stacked on one of the side tables and flipped to the last page he was on.

He glanced up as a news story about Superman came on. Just the usual 'Who is Superman and what will he do next' spiel. There were a couple of blurry pictures of him flying by overhead. Clark was about to glance back down when he noticed the date in the corner. April 30th. It said _Friday_ , April 30th.

Clark's eyes widened as he stood up and raced to the kitchen where the tear-away calendar was. "No, no, no, no, _no_ ," he said miserably, looking at the date.

Clark flew up the stairs (literally) and got ready as fast as he could. He landed back in the kitchen with his tie slightly askew and the buttons on his dress-vest misbuttoned. Clark grabbed his laptop off the counter and slid it into his side bag. He zipped out of his building with record timing. He wished he could be on time instead.

 

. . .

 

As soon as he got to the Daily Planet, Clark rushed into Perry White's office. With an apology mocha latte. He reached out trying to hand the coffee to the man seated behind his grand desk.

"Well, Clark didn't expect to see you come in. Better late than never, am I right?" He chuckles and accepts the cup, taking a sip. "My favorite. So what's the excuse today? Did you see a cute puppy?" Clark hesitated, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Scooting his glasses higher up on his nose, he cleared his throat.

"Mr. White, I'm so sorry for being late I just—" he dropped his voice low enough that Perry had to lean forward—"I...I thought it was Saturday."

Perry leaned back, a smile growing on his face. He snorted. "You're one of my top reporters, Clark. How could you possibly think today was Saturday? Oh, man."

"Sir?" He said frantically. Clark doesn't know what he's going to do if he's fired. He needs this job. "You're not going to fire me, are you?"

At this, Perry laughs out loud. "Did you not hear me, son? I said that you're one of my top reporters. No, Kent, I'm not going to fire you." He takes another unworried sip as Clark sighs out a breath of relief.

"Thank you, Mr. White—" Perry cuts off his rambling.

"That's fine. Shoo. I have an appointment in about two minutes."

"Let's hope he's not late, too," Clark says quietly. The older man rolls his eyes and waves a hand, dismissing him.

Clark turns and heads out of the office. He rounds the corner, trying to make a beeline for his cubicle and—

— Clark runs headfirst into another person. Somehow, he landed on the floor with his glasses knocked off his face. All the papers in the other man's file scattered around the pair. He ducks his head (flushing) and murmurs an apology, his hair falling into his face. Clark plays into having poor eyesight, running his hands over the carpet trying to find his glasses.

"It's not a problem," the other man says, the voice deep and calm. Clark finds the frames and hurriedly replaces them on his face. They both gather the papers and Clark apologizes again. Once they were all together and at least semi-neat, Clark looked up.

"Oh my god. You're Bruce Wayne." They both rise, Bruce more elegantly than Clark. By this point, the entire office had gathered to watch the exchange. Usually, handsome and wealthy men don't strut into the Daily Planet. Especially while wearing a suit that could buy the entire office.

Bruce flashed a dazzling grin at him, and Clark flushed again. He looks down at the other man's expensive shoes as he replies. "That's me. Now if you'll excuse me...?"

"Oh! I'm Clark, Clark Kent." He clumsily shoves out a hand for the other man to shake. He notices that Bruce has scars all over his hands and wrist

"Clark...Well if you'll excuse me, Clark, I'm late for my appointment. Nice running into you." Great. He's got a sense of humor too. Clark smiles and turns away, trying not to scurry to his desk. He could feel Wayne's eyes on him the entire way.

"Mr. Wayne! Lovely to see you again—" He hears Perry say to the other man. Clark sits miserably at his desk, watching as Bruce heads into the boss's office without a backward glance.

 _Perfect_ , Clark thought. _First I'm late. Next, I run into a super hot guy who happens to be rich. Whose also playboy/philanthropist. This day honestly couldn't get better._

Then Lois Lane headed over. She leaned on the thin wall of his cubicle and smiled broadly at him.

"Clark, you ran right into him! That was hilarious!"

"It wasn't funny, Lois. And why didn't you wake me up?" He hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at her. Clark takes the shoulder strap off from around his head and places the bag on the floor, taking out his journal.

"I thought you could use the extra sleep," Lois says defensively. "It's not like I made you think it was Saturday."

"You were listening in on my conversation," Clark blustered.

"The whole office could hear," he slapped his palm onto his forehead. He sighed and looked over to where the large glass windows showed into Perry's office. Bruce Wayne was sitting and laughing lightly at something the older man said. There's no denying that Bruce was attractive, with his salt and pepper hair and slight unshaved scruff. Then there was the appeal of his intellect. Boy, he was smart. He was the head of Wayne Enterprises, and he was good at it. He was banking millions daily.

"—Clark? Clark, are you listening to me?"

"Hmm?"

"I said that the rumors are that Wayne is moving to Metropolis and expanding his empire here." She says looking over at the office. "Anyways, do you want to go out for dinner tonight?"

"That'd be nice, yes," Clark says, looking up at her. She was just so beautiful. And he was just so in love with her. Even with all the things they bickered about, they always made up and went on with their lives. They could just lean back and talk about everything for hours or maybe nothing at all, and they could still be comfortable with one another.

A commotion at the front of the office made all the heads turn. Bruce Wayne and Perry White had exited the office, and they were shaking hands goodbye. Perry suddenly turned and looked at Clark. He whipped his head down and tried to look inconspicuous as if he hadn't been staring the entire time.

"Clark! Get over here!" he said waving him over. Clark stood, grabbing his journal and pen. He walked briskly over to where the two men stood and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Yes, Mr. White?"

"We're going to do an article about Wayne Enterprises and Brucey here has requested that you be the reporter to do it! Isn't that something!" Perry announced, clapping his hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Tomorrow at about 11 o'clock meet me at the Hamilton on West Street. We can do an interview where I'm staying."

"Sounds good. See you then Mr. Wayne!" Clark scribbles down a note and looks up with a smile.

Bruce tips an invisible hat towards him as he says, "Mr. Kent." Then he walks towards the elevator with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

 

. . .

 

"Then he was like 'Mr. Kent,' and walked away!" Clark was ecstatic. He hadn't gotten a good piece since the first 'Superman' incident.

"Clark, I know. I was there." Lois said rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. They were walking down to the lunch room for their break.

"I can't wait to interview him! Oh, gosh. I don't even know what I'm going to ask him." Clark scribbles furiously into his notebook, Lois steering him away from crashing into people. They enter an empty elevator, and Lois punches the button for the 1st floor.

"I don't know," Lois says sharply, turning towards him. "Why do you ask him on a date?"

"Why would I ask him on a date?" Clark says, stopping midsentence and looking up at her.

"After all these years on Earth, you still don't understand sarcasm." The elevator doors ding open and they walk out. "I just wanted that piece is all."

"Then why didn't you say so? You can have it."

"But he specifically requested you be the one to do it," Lois said softly.

"Can't you just come with me? I don't see why you couldn't. Tag along, I mean." Clark says looking back down at his notebook. He writes something down, less frantically. Lois's whole face lights up, and she hugs him quickly before setting off again, walking out the front doors of the Daily Planet.

"You coming?" Lois says, holding the door open. She smiles, beams of sunlight washing over her. Clark grins, too, and jogs to catch up with her.

"Of course."

 

. . .


	2. The Acts of Saving and Being Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets his ass kicked and Superman is a good guy

After the elevator arrived on the ground floor, Bruce Wayne headed out to his car; a gorgeous black Lamborghini _Murciélago_ LP640. As he stepped up to it, the phone in his pocket started to buzz. Bruce looked down and pulled it out. Alfred. He sighs and clicks the answer button.

"Hey, Alfie. What's up?" He opens the door to his car and puts the keys in the ignition. Then he closes the door behind him and leans back against it, watching the building.

_"Master Wayne, there has been a robbery down on thirty-second street. I highly suggest that—"_

"Yeah, okay. In a minute, I'm waiting for someone." Bruce replies leisurely. It's not like a robbery was the end of the world. Waiting two minutes wouldn't kill anyone, now would it?

 _"Master Wayne, you don't understand—"_ Alfred says, trying to catch Bruce's attention. It was starting to get annoying. Bruce ran a tired hand over his face, still staring at the front doors to the building.

"Alfred, I said two minutes. I need to talk to someone down at the—"

_"It's the Joker."_

Now, Alfred had it. Sighing, Bruce turned away and got into his car, starting the engine. Hurriedly, he pulls away. Bruce looks in the review and sees Mr. Kent exit the building with Ms. Lane. Screw having conversations.

"I'll be right there."

 

. . .

 

"So what, Mr. Banker? Are we going to just, I don't know, wait for Batsy to show up?"

The man was on his knees, visibly trembling. The Joker took a step forward, gun in hand, and traced the man's cheek with its barrel. He was starting to get bored.

"Hm...Maybe." He murmured, continuing to trace the banker's face. "Maybe we will wait for old Batsy."

"Please don't hurt my family. Just—" The man chokes out a strangled sound as the clown cocks the barrel of his gun. "Take the money... you don't need to hurt anyone. Please!" The Joker bends down and looks the man in the eye. The green handgun is still pressing into his head. The innocent man shivers more violently.

"If you move another muscle, I'll blow your head off." The man immediately stilled. The Joker spun on his heel and looked out the shattered windows of Metropolis City Bank.

"Actually...no. I've decided to change my mind. Ta-ta!" A sick, twisted smile spread across his mangled lips.

The gun sounds, blood sprays, and a chorus of shrieks rises high in the air.

 

. . .

 

Seconds after the first shot fired, Bruce's earpiece crackles to life.

 _"Multiple-hostage situation, one reported gunshot. Master Wayne, where are you?"_ Alfred's voice comes through the speaker as calm as ever, but with a slight undertone of panic.

"I'm—" Bruce paused, swerving past cars— "nearly there, Alfred."

_"Hurry."_

 

. . .

 

Meanwhile—about two blocks away—Clark was sitting with Lois, drinking coffee. He was in the middle of a sip when he heard the first gunshot.

Clark stood abruptly and turned to leave. He turned back around, regretfully, to look apologetically at Lois. She waved him on, smiling around her drink.

"Go be a hero, Clark," she beamed. "Save the day."

 

. . .

 

Bruce arrived and turned down the alley beside the bank. Hurriedly, he changes into his suit and throws a tarp over the car. He wouldn't want to be recognized, would he?

Another gunshot sounds, snapping him back to attention;

" _Shit_." Bruce scales the two-story bank with ease and looks through the glass ceiling at the scene below. The Joker stood facing the hostages, all seven of them bound and gagged. One man was dead, a hole in his head and there was another on his side, unconscious, with a puddle of blood spreading under him.

Lightly, he pried his fingers under the glass pane and lifted hit, listening to what the joker had to say.

"—and until Batsy decides to show up, you are each going to get shot. How does that sound?" He cackles out a laugh that turns into a phlegmy cough.

Silently, as invisible as a shadow, he slips down into the bank below. He watches waiting for his moment. The Joker suddenly swings towards the column he was standing behind, narrowing his eyes. Turning around once more, he stalks back over to the hostages.

"You—" he points a gun at a young woman—"are next."

Batman slips out from behind the column and steps over to the Joker, pausing just behind him.

"Oh! Batman, why hello there." The Jocker cocks his head, not facing him. "Well... I guess the game's over." He raises his hands, dropping his handgun. Batman doesn't move. The Joker swiveled around to face him and grinned. It was a sickly grin, one that didn't quite meet the look in the crazy man's eyes. Lightning fast, he reached down, pulling another gun out his jacket pocket and pointed it at Bruce. The Joker began cackling again, maniacally.

"Bye, bye Batsy." Faster than even he could react, the clown pulled the trigger and—

—The bullet went through the air. Bruce was suddenly on the other side of the bank, an arm around his waist. Batman whirled around to look into stunning blue eyes and a red cape.

"Superman," he said with a nod of appreciation. Bruce would have had a hole in his chest without the metahuman.

"Batman."

"Joker!" The third man interrupted, unamused. "Now Supes, if you don't mind, there's a certain flying rodent I need to remove."

"Can you handle him?" Superman asked from somewhere behind him.

"Of course," Batman grunted. "Can you get them to safety?"

Superman smiled a dazzling smile. " _Of course_." With a blast of air, the wounded man on the floor is whooshed away, along with two others.

"No!" The Joker shouted, baring his yellow teeth. "It's just supposed to be you and me!"

"Then maybe you should have stayed in Gotham," Batman said, jumping over to where the other man stood. The Joker fired round after round of bullets. As Bruce was recovering from a kick, one of them struck his side, just below this ribcage. His cape flaring behind him, Batman whirled and kicked out at the Joker's gun hand. His pain was irrelevant to the safety of others. He could handle it. Joker dropped his gun and stumbled back a few steps.

"Woah there, Mr. Batman. We wouldn't want to break anything, would we?" The Joker held out a hand as if he was suggesting that they take a pause. Batman kept coming, relentlessly kicking and jabbing. Soon, the Joker had his feet swept out from under him, crashing back onto the marble floor. Superman had successfully removed all the hostages and was standing by, waiting for the Bat to finish up. Batman straddled him, sitting on his stomach and raised his fist.

"Sexy, the way you've always got me on the floor. One would almost think you like me, Batsy." The Joker propped himself on his elbows and leaning forward.

"Shut up." Bruce punched him again, pushing him back to the ground. The Joker laughed.

"One might also assume that you have parental issues." Pausing, the Joker leans forward again, further into Bruce's face. "After all," he whispers, "being orphaned at such a young age, who wouldn't?"

"I said be quiet!" Bruce shouts, rage consuming him. He starts pummeling the Joker with his fists, hitting him again and again.

Even though the man who killed them was dead, Bruce would never let it go. He should have done something the night his parent's died; tackled the shooter, hit his gun away. Hell, even jump in front of the inevitable bullet. But instead, he did nothing out behind the opera house. He'd been completely and utterly helpless.

"Batman!" A voice cut like a knife through his agony, though his pain. "Batman, that's enough!"

Breathing heavily, he sat back, falling off of the Joker. The other man was a mess. Blood smeared across his face, nose shattered, lips split. The Joker's eyes and cheeks bruised, his jaw broken in at least one area, and his breathing was soft and gurgling.

Superman placed a hand on his shoulder, and Bruce visibly flinched back. Bruce looked down at his bloody hands, and suddenly his suit was too tight, too hot.

"Get up, Batman. The public can't see their hero look weak," murmured Superman, his voice soft. Bruce looked up at the other man, his eyes exhausted and broken.

"I'm no hero."

 

. . .

 

Clark stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Batman's shoulder, lifting him off the ground. As he pulled, the other man took a sharp intake of breath.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, concerned. The other man nodded.

"I'm fine. The damn bullet hit me in the side," Batman hissed.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Clark was more concerned than before.

"No. Can you—" Batman grimaced—"get me to the alley? Preferably without the press. From there, I can get to the Batmobile." Clark looked at the other man's face, took in the way he was leaning on him for support. When Clark realized he'd been staring for too long, and the masked man had been staring back, he blushed and turned away.

"I can do that," Clark said, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

With a gust of air, they were outside, behind the bank.

"Thanks." The wounded man reached to his other arm and pushed a concealed button with a soft beep. A few seconds later, the sleek black vehicle pulled into the alley, and a door flew open. Batman let go of Clark and hobbled over to his car, hand pressed to his side. He plopped into his seat and turned to Clark.

"Superman."

"Batman."

The door closed and the car roared to life as Batman stepped on the accelerator. Clark hovered there for another moment longer, watching him go. Clark remembered he had an appointment with a billionaire.

He lifted off, soon flying past the speed of sound.

. . .

"Master Wayne? Are you here?" Alfred called out, leaving the elevator. Walking through the Batcave, it was oddly quiet. He thought he'd heard Bruce come in.

"I'm here." A voice echoed against the walls. As Alfred rounded the corner, he saw Bruce sitting in his favorite chair, shirtless and bleeding. Always bleeding all over the upholstery. "Hey Alfred, you wouldn't mind digging this bullet out of me would you?"

"Of course not, sir."

Carefully but surely, Alfred removed the bullet with surgical precision. Then he disinfected it and sutured the wound.

"Also, might I remind you that you have an appointment in Metropolis with Mr. Kent, Master Wayne."

"Oh shit. I can't go see him like this, Alfred." Bruce said, slapping his forehead and regretting it when it pulled on the stitches.

"Indeed not," Alfred said, turning away and placing the dirty surgical equipment in the sterilizer. "You may want to reschedule."

"Good idea. That's exactly what I'll do."

Bruce got up and thanked the old man. He walked upstairs and found Clark's email on the Daily Planet website. He quickly tapped out an email.

 

_"Clark,_  
_I can't make it today, I forgot and overscheduled. I sincerely apologize. Let me know when—"_

 

He continues on, writing complete nonsense. Bruce bites his lip and rereads his email. Sighing, he deletes it and shuts down the computer. He didn't feel like being interviewed. Though, he did want some company.

Thumping down the main staircase, Bruce heads out the front door.

"I'll be back, Alfred. I'm heading out." The door slams behind him, rattling the grand windows beside it.

Alfred smiles and continues vacuuming. When he finished, he headed over to the small table full of pictures of young Bruce with Martha and Thomas. Grinning sadly, he dusts them.

"If only you could see him now." He said, heart heavy with bad news.

. . .

 


	3. Waiting for Interviews and Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview with Bruce, some scheduling, and lots of learning.

Clark had been sitting in the lobby of the Hampton for about an hour and a half, waiting for a particular billionaire who never showed up. Figures. Clark stood and headed over to the main desk. He gave a dazzling smile from behind his glasses.

"Excuse me? Can you leave a message for someone for me? Thanks." Quickly, he scribbled out a note telling Mr. Wayne that he was here. Clark shot a quick wave at the secretary and pushed out the main doors, stepping out into the sunlight.

Reshouldering his bag, he walks to the curb and hails a taxi. As it pulls up, another car swerves into that spot. A black limousine. One of the back doors flies open, revealing Bruce Wayne in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

"Mr. Kent, would you care to join me?" Wow, his voice was hot. It wasn't necessarily deep, but it was low and sincere. Now Clark knew what all the ladies were up against and he didn't blame them for one second.

"Mr. Kent? Are you coming in?" Bruce asked, sliding out of the car and standing.

"Oh, yes. Sorry, I was thinking," Clark said absently, watching as Bruce reached up and stretched. His shirt rode up and exposed a taught strip of flesh, and Clark couldn't help but look. Flinching, Bruce looked back at him and caught him staring. He raised a hand to his side and smirked. Clark blushed, embarrassed. Bruce gestured for him to enter the limousine and slid in after him. As Clark settled in, Bruce sat in the seat across from him, against the back of the driver's seat.

"Mr. Kent—"

"Clark, please," he interrupted.

"Okay, Clark. Meet Alfred, my butler. Alfred meet Clark Kent from the Daily Planet."

"How do you do, sir," Clark said to the older man. The butler didn't respond, only nodding a hello. Friendly.

"I apologize for being late, by the way. I had some matters to attend to, and I lost track of time. So—do you have any questions?"

"I do." Clark unwrapped the shoulder strap and took his notebook out of it. He flipped to the right page and read the first question aloud.

"Why are you expanding to Metropolis?"

"Wayne Enterprises thought it was in our best interest to expand here, more profits and more opportunities to give those in need jobs." Clark scratched down the other man's words. Looking up, he adjusted his glasses.

"Speaking of money, are you planning to expand the payment of charities?"

"Without a doubt, Mr. Kent." Bruce leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, cupping his cheeks in hand. "Charity has always been a major part of Wayne Enterprises." Bruce shifted again, leaning back and holding out his hand. Clark furrowed his brows in confusion. Bruce gestured for the notepad and pen. Clark handed it over.

"So...my turn, I presume," Bruce said reading over the questions. He then continued to fill out the answers. After a moment of silence, he looked up at Clark, who was staring at him dumbfounded. "You're quiet for a reporter."

"You miss a lot when you aren't always listening, Mr. Wayne," Clark said, smiling softly. Bruce looked back down and continued to write. "Are you planning to stay in Metropolis? As in, moving here?"

"Yes." Bruce clicked the pen open and closed a few times. Flipping the notepad closed, he hands both items to Clark. "I answered all the important ones. Who were you with at the office?"

"What do you mean?" Clark said, replacing them in his bag. Bruce's gaze pierced his own, intense and beautiful.

"I mean who was the redhead?"

"Oh, Lois? She's my girlfriend. We've been together for a while." Clark smiles at the thought of her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Bruce snaps his eyes away and frowns, a hand raising to his wounded side. He begins to rub it.

"What happened to your side?" Clark inquires, gesturing to Bruce's hand. Quickly, he dropped it from his abdomen.

"Pulled a muscle," he replied shortly, gazing unseeing out the window. The conversation comes to an abrupt halt. Every once in a while Bruce glances over to him and quickly looks away.

"Masters," Alfred's voice cuts through the heavy silence. "We're here."

 

. . .

 

Of course. Of course, Lois was his girlfriend. How could he have not seen it? The way they looked at each other was indescribable. Well—it wasn't indescribable. They were in love. It was gross.

"Thanks, Alfred. After you, Mr. Kent." Bruce opened the door and sat back in his seat. Clark climbed out and faced the car. Clark gave the man a funny look. Bruce slammed the door closed and rolled down the window. "I hope you got everything you needed for your article."

"Yes, sir," Clark blushed. Bruce grinned at him. "I mean—I got that and more. Thank you." He shoved his glasses up his nose.

"If you need anything else, let me know." Bruce took a deep breath in and held out his hand. Clark shook it, his eyes meeting the other man's. Alfred shifted the car into gear and began to pull away.

"Wait!" Clark blurted, "When can I see you again?"

"When we meet again, Kent." Alfred pulled away, and Bruce tossed a wave out the window without turning.

Clark lifted a hand in return, staring after the car. Soon, he faded into the distance.

"You heard Clark, Bruce. He has a girlfriend."

Watching in the rearview mirror, he replied to Alfred. "That won't stop a heart from yearning. Take us home, Alfred."

 

. . .

 

Clark turned away and headed down the street. Bruce had left him within walking distance of the Daily Planet. He started walking towards the highrise building, thinking.

Bruce Wayne was an intense man. A particular man who was not only attractive but had taken a singular interest in him, a reporter. Clark couldn't deny that he was attracted to him, but it was just a passing crush, right? No biggy.

But wow, those _eyes_.

Clark's head was still reeling, even as he entered the elevator and punched the button. He remembered how disappointed Bruce had looked when Clark told him that Lois was his girlfriend. Coincidence?

He shook his head, trying to clear the nagging thoughts of Bruce. The elevator dinged to a stop, Clark exiting the lift.

Sliding his glasses up his nose, he noticed the office space was eerily quiet. There were only four or five of his co-workers around, excluding himself and Lois. Odd.

Clark walked over to his little cubicle and retrieved his notebook and laptop from his bag before setting the thing down. He looked through the notes Bruce had taken. He'd filled out every question. Not just the important ones. He'd added other statistics on the side, as well.

Clark looked closer at the numbers on the side of the page. They weren't statistics; it was a phone number. Bruce Wayne's phone number. He quickly tapped them into his contacts on his phone and sent a text.

" _When will I see you again?_ "

 

. . .

 

Bruce heard the animated ping of a text message and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was an unknown number, but he knew who it was.

"Clark," he murmured.

 _"When will I see you again?"_ The text said.

"Mr. Kent." He tapped

" _Mr. Wayne,_ " The reply came immediately. Bruce ran up the stairs to his bedroom, avoiding the questioning and judgemental look that Alfred gave him. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk.

He called.

 

. . .

 

Clark jumped and fumbled when his phone started to ring, loudly. He answered the phone, ducking his head.

"Hello?"

" _Hello, Clark._ " Bruce's voice came clear through the speaker.

"What are you doing? You can't call me at work!" Clark peeped up over his cubicle separations and ducked his head when he saw someone staring.

" _Oh well. I guess I'll go then. I was merely going to tell you when we'd see one another again. Bye—_ "

"Wait!" Through the silence on the other end of the line, Clark could practically hear the smirk. He reached for his water and replied before taking a sip. "Give me a time and a place, and I'm there."

" _Okay. The Gala, Thursday at 7 p.m._ " Bruce says easily. Clark makes a strangled noise around his mouthful of water and swallows.

"Maybe not that one. I'm supposed to be reporting there during that event."

" _Well...maybe I can get you an exclusive with Cat Grant?_ " Bruce tries. Clark held the phone between his ear and shoulder, logging on to his computer. He hesitates, making Bruce wait. Make him squirm in his seat.

"You're serious? Cat Grant isn't some mean prank?" Clark raises a blue pen to his lips and touches the cap to the lower one. There's a heavy sigh.

" _Would I have said it if I weren't serious?_ "

"I don't know—maybe. It's not like I know you too well." Clark clicks over to the article that he was supposed to finish last week and begins to write. This one, in particular, is about the changes in the economy over the last few years.

" _Fine. Tomorrow, two days before, at the coffee shop on West Street._ "

"Okay," Clark said softly.

" _But I still expect you to come to the Gala._ " He could hear Bruce start to move around on the other side of the phone.

"And I sill expect you to get me that exclusive," Clark replies, teasing.

"Deal."

 

. . .

 

 

 


	4. Of Bad News and Acknowledgements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news and surprises lay ahead. You were warned.

Bruce strode out of the walk-in closet, looking at himself in the full-length mirror. He frowned. Stripping, he walks back into the closet and tries on another outfit.

"Alfred!" He yells. "Alfred, I need you!"

Bruce heard frantic footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway. Alfred comes in, a very concerned look in his eyes, and assesses the situation.

"Master Wayne, I thought you were in trouble. I thought—"

"Alfie, I'm fine. I need your help. Now, should I go for the casual 'just-got-back-from-the-gym' look? Or the dress vest and slacks?" Bruce held each one up respectively. Alfred furrowed his brow.

"I may have been your parent's butler, but to them, I was a friend. As for you, I am nothing but a servant to come at your beck and call." The older man gave him a venomous look and turned, marching contemptuously out of the room.

Looking forlornly at the outfits, Bruce tosses them on the bed and runs after Alfred. "Wait!" He shouts. Damn, that old man is fast. Thundering down the stairs, Bruce rounds into the kitchen only to see the back door closing. He runs out and sees Alfred starting one of the cars and starting to tear out of the driveway. Bruce sprints after him. Cutting through the woods, he runs parallel to him on the main road. Seeing his chance, Bruce runs out in front of the car, onto the main road, forcing Alfred to screech to a halt.

Bruce leaned forward on the hood, breathing heavily. The younger man looked up at the butler, a smirk on his face. Caught.

Alfred looked furious. The other man turned off the engine and stepped out. He slammed the door behind him, rattling the windows.

"Go home, Bruce!" Alfred shouts.

"You can't leave!" Bruce shouts back.

"Yes, I can. Go home!"

Bruce felt like he was the little boy out on the streets behind the opera house, crying and alone among the bodies of his parents. "If you leave, I'll be alone! I won't have anyone!" His tone had gone from being angry to desperate.

"Bruce," Alfred said softly, coming around the car. Bruce straightened, daring the tears in his eyes not to overflow.

"Alfred, please don't leave me alone."

"You know I'm not going to live forever. You know that I'm not always going to be here. Bruce, there's something I have to tell you..."

"Spit it out already, old man," Bruce says playfully, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't help.

"I have cancer."

And just like that, his world was shattered.

 

. . .

 

Clark looked down at his phone as it pinged, sounding an incoming text message.

" _Can't make it today._ "

Clark frowned. "Is everything okay?"

" _No_." Glancing up at the office around him, he ducked his head down and continued evading his job. Clark was the definition of procrastination at its finest.

"Do you not want to go out with me later, then?" Realizing how that sounded Clark's eyes widened. He tapped furiously, trying to explain himself.

"I mean that in the sense that we're friends and nothing more, you know."

Clark waited for a response. One never came. His phone said that Bruce read the texts. Time passed, and there still hadn't been a response. Clark made up his mind. He'd go and see Bruce at his new house tomorrow.

 

. . .

 

Bruce had secluded himself to the Batcave, avoiding all human contact. He just couldn't bear it.

Alfred, his dearest friend, his oldest companion, was dying. Fucking cancer. Not only that, but Alfred didn't want treatment. It drove Bruce wild. Why wouldn't he take a chance to live? It was a second chance not everyone had. Alfred to get radiation treatments, or even Chemo. Bruce had money, that wasn't the issue.

Bruce could see what Alfred was thinking. He'd want to spend the rest of his life with dignity, not curled around the toilet bowl with sickness. It didn't stop him from being angry about the other man's choices.

He refreshed the page, looking for any sign of crime. There wasn't any. _Imagine that_ , Bruce thinks. _A dry spell in Metropolis_.

Bruce stood, gathering the papers scattered around him. He shoves them into a manilla folder, thumping rhythmically down the steel steps. Bruce walks mindlessly through the Batcave, knowing the twists and turns of the tunnels like the back of his hand.

Taking the elevator upstairs, he steps out into the kitchen where he sees Alfred sitting with a cup of steaming coffee and a newspaper.

"Sir," he says.

"Alfred," Bruce replies. He leaves the other man. He doesn't want to talk to the butler right now. Bruce knows they'll start arguing again. He's too emotionally exhausted for that.

As he passed the front door, he heard a quiet knock. He stopped. The rapping came again.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Bruce called out. The second man strode in lightly. Already looking more fragile, Bruce noticed.

"No, I'm not. Are you?" Alfred looked past him to the door. Bruce shook his head tensing. Stepping back, he swung the door open to reveal—

—"Clark Kent," Bruce said, surprised. Relaxed.

"Uhm, hi there. I figured that if you didn't want to go out, I might as well come to see you. I hope this isn't a bad time—"

"It is." Short, simple, and too harsh, Bruce winced. He didn't mean for the comment to be sharp.

"Oh." Clark looked down and pushed his glasses further up his nose. His dark hair covers his reddening face. "I'll, um, I'll go then. Sorry." Bruce moves to close the door when Alfred pushes past him, shouldering the door open.

"Wait, Clark. I would like to speak with you. Why don't you come on in?" Clark's face lit up, and Bruce's jaw fell open. Okay, then.

"Great. I brought coffee; it's in the car. I'll go grab it." He looked genuinely excited. Alfred left the room, heading for the living room. Bruce waited by the door, watching as it began to rain. Clark ran back, hunching his shoulders.

"How do you know where I live?" Bruce hissed, pointing an accusatory finger at the other man. Offering him a cup, Clark shrugged.

"Everyone knows where you live. It's not exactly a hard place to find. It's the only manor built recently in Metropolis."

"Oh," he breathed out softly. Bruce looked at Clark, the tiny droplets of rain condensing on his angular cheeks, sliding down his jawline. Bruce furrowed his brows, tearing his gaze from him. Clark had noticed him staring, Bruce realized. But he hadn't said anything.

Alfred cleared his throat from the other doorway, breaking the tension.

"This way, sirs."

"Call me Clark, please." He said smiling. Bruce stood, almost like he was frozen. Of course, Bruce found him attractive, you'd be dumb not to. He'd acknowledged his feelings before and he's been able to ignore them until now. Until now. Bruce watched him leave, an innocent smile on those lips. By God, those beautiful, _perfect_ lips. How he wished he could kiss them, or touch them. How they would look swollen, and red—

"Are you coming, Master Wayne?"

"Yeah." Bruce swallowed thickly, trying to will away his arousal. " _Shit_ , Clark..."

 

. . .

 

 


	5. The Coming and Goings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is having a rough day. So's Bruce.
> 
> *Suicide warning below. If this bothers you, I have a summary in the bottom notes*

Bruce Wayne was confused. By now, he should have been used to the mystifying ways of people, but here he was, sitting on his couch, confused as ever.

"Wait. So you, Clark, have been in contact with Alfred for how long?" He rubs his fingers in circles on his temples.

"Two weeks, give or take," Clark said with nonchalance. The three were sitting in the living room of the new Wayne manor in Metropolis. Alfred and Clark sat on a loveseat across from Bruce, who was sitting in a worn leather chair. Clark was nursing a mug of coffee and Alfred, tea.

"And neither of you were going to tell me?"

"To be truthful, sir, neither of us thought it was entirely your business," Alfred spoke with quiet politeness. Bruce made a soft noise of affirmation in the back of his throat and stared at Clark, his thoughts drifting once again towards the man.

"Not to mention, Master Bruce, that you have often—'

 _Clark_. Bruce didn't even know him that well, and here he was, sitting in his living room, chatting it up with his dying parental figure, trying to brighten the mood. What a fucked up situation.

"Also, when he was younger, Mr. Kent, Bruce used to—"

Still—he's here. Clark: a reporter, smiling, and clumsy as hell. Like sunlight, breaking through the overcast skies. Bruce wasn't sure why, though. Clark was the complete opposite of himself.

"I, myself, even knew that. Bruce didn't—"

Bruce refocused but continued to stare at the man across from him. Clark must've noticed him staring a while ago, Bruce realized. The reporter was burning a bright scarlet behind his thick-framed glasses. He raised a shaky hand to his lips, taking a careful sip of his steaming tea. Clark glanced up at Bruce, their eyes making a startling contact. Bruce studied the other man's eyes, taking note of the curiosity within them. The blue they had was an intensity that Bruce had never seen before.

Those eyes. Those _beautiful_ eyes. They looked to hold a thousand stars within them. Bruce's thoughts turned again, making him think about Clark in a manner that would be considered rude. The way those eyes would look glazed-over with pleasure. The way Clark's eyes would look up at Bruce from his knees. Bruce cleared his throat, cheeks burning. The sound raised the attention of Alfred, who stopped talking and glanced at the men.

"Well then. I'll leave you two to it. You both need to talk without my incessant rambling."

Alfred stood haughtily and grabbed the mug out of Clark's hands.

"Thank you, Alfred," Clark said, sitting forward and clasping his hands. The pair watched the man step out of the room and for a moment, things were quiet.

"Bruce, I just wanted to—"

"Clark, I think you're—"

They burst out of the silence simultaneously. Bruce laughs and leans back in his chair. Clark gives a small smile and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Please, you first," Clark allows. Bruce nods and takes a deep breath. Should he tell Clark what he thinks? He doesn't want to ruin anything they might have between them. Screw it.

"I was going to say that... that I think you're beautiful."

 

. . .

 

"I think you're beautiful."

Those five words rocked his world. Clark makes a strangled sound. _Smooth, Clark. Real smooth_ , he thinks to himself.

"I know that you have a girlfriend and all but I—shit. I've messed things up, haven't I?"

Bruce stands and starts to pace, running a hand through his hair worriedly. Clark watches him, the receding blush coming back full force.

"Why would you tell me that, Bruce?" He says, quietly.

"What?"

"Why would you call me beautiful? What did you expect me to do? To leave Lois, my girlfriend of two years, for you? A man I hardly know? Damn it. No, damn _you_."

The other man walked over to the window and pulled aside the drape, watching the storm rage. Bruce followed the fat raindrops rolling down the glass. No thunderclaps, no flashes of lightning. Just downpours of heavy rain.

Clark stands, his expression an angry one. "I love her, Bruce! I'm in love with her, and she's my world."

"Then why are you here?" Bruce said cooly. Clark sputtered incoherently. After a moment, he throws his hands in the air in defeat and rushes out of the room. Grabbing his long coat from off of the coat hanger, he yanks it on his arms, fuming.

"Are you leaving already, Mr. Kent?" Alfred inquires, standing on the landing of the staircase.

"Unfortunately, yes. I have...pressing matters to attend to." Clark looked towards his shoes, unable to make eye contact. "I'll keep in touch okay?"

Without waiting for a response, he throws the door open and starts out to his car. Unbeknownst to him, Bruce had left the room and followed after him, running into the entry room. Alfred had gestured to Bruce for him to continue pursuing the other man. Clark walks down the gravel driveway, the rain instantly soaking him. The rainfall is chilling, so much so that Clark feels the cold touching his bones. With his hands shaking in anger and confusion, Clark fumbles with his keys. A simple phrase shouldn't be affecting him so deeply; he was, after all, an alien.

The keys fall to the earth, and Clark feels like shouting. He doesn't he Bruce behind him until the man is bending down, reaching for Clark's keys. After grabbing them he pauses and looks up before rising and handing them to Clark.

Bruce notices his trembling hands, and watching Clark struggles to put them in the keyhole on the car's door. Several attempts end in failure, then Bruce places his hand atop the tremoring one. Bruce pulls their hands away from the car. Clark stares at the man in front of him, shivering. They were both soaked, their clothes ruined. Rain spotted the lenses of Clark's glasses and plastered his hair to his forehead.

His head was reeling. Bruce thought he was beautiful. Clark wanted him; he so desperately wanted him. And standing here in the rain, in the eye of this storm, Clark forgot about Lois, about the Daily Planet, about everything around them. Everything except Bruce, who stared at him with a dazzling depth as if he was looking into Clark's soul.

"Bruce, what are you doing? You're soaked," he tried weakly with his voice quivering. Bruce glanced down at himself, only realizing now that he was wet. Then he looked back to Clark, remorse in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he said. Clark furrowed his brows, confused.

"For what—"

Clark's sentence was cut off by Bruce's lips. Their kiss wasn't slow or organized. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, one trying to assert dominance over the other. Full of anger and excitement and pure _want_. No, not want. _Need_.

The reporter winced as Bruce's teeth nicked his lip, tugging at it as he drew away. Clark's lips felt numb with the heat that was once there. Bruce gazed at him, eyes glassy but calculating, trying to gauge his reaction. Clark moved his fingertips to his mouth, dazed. Throwing away all rationalities, Clark reached out and grabbed the lapels of Bruce's coat, pulling him close and initiating another kiss, this one more controlled. More about satisfaction than need.

Clark's tongue darted out, flicking the other man's lips, asking permission for entry. Bruce parted them slightly, kissing back softly. Clark's eyes fluttered closed and—

—Bruce turned away, separating them. Without his heat, Clark felt cold again. What just happened? Oh, _shit_. What would Lois say? Shit. Wordlessly, Bruce frowned, recognizing the worry and concern in Clark's eyes.

The billionaire watched as Clark unlocked his car with a press of a button, completely forgetting about the keys that had caused so much trouble before.

Once again, Clark turned and looked at Bruce, looking at him. Clark opened his mouth to speak but paused. What could he possibly say to him? What words could he say that would make Bruce understand everything? There weren't enough words to express his thoughts and feelings and there was just too much to say—

Bruce turned his back to Clark, not waiting for what he had to say, and started back up the gravel driveway. The sound of gravel had always been something Clark enjoyed, having grown up on the farm and all; but now, it was nothing but unhappiness.

 

. . .

 

Back at the house, Bruce had watched the driveway long after the silver car had driven away with a screech of tires. Following Clark's speedy exit, the rain had stopped. Now, Bruce sat on the porch, listening to the tiny drip-drops of excess water and thinking.

Had he ruined their friendship? Their potential for something more? Clark had clearly felt something, hadn't he? He must've, to initiate that last kiss. Maybe that's all it was, a first and last kiss. Bruce put his head in his hands.

A hand came down on his shoulder, making him jump. He looked up forlornly at the old and weathered face of Alfred. He leaned heavily upon Bruce as he bent down and sat next to him.

"What have I done, Alfred?"

Alfred made a face, judging his next words with care.

"You, my young sir, have either ruined a friendship or you have started something new."

"That's what I was thinking," Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes. They fell into a contented silence, no words being spoken but plenty being shared. The light of the sun bounced off of every drop of water on every blade of grass, brightening the still grey clouds. The air smelled of petrichor, and truthfully, Bruce enjoyed this. This...tranquillity. Serenity.

"You need to talk to him," Alfred prodded, shattering the silence. Bruce looked down at his scarred hands and grimaced.

"I know."

. . .

Clark roared into the driveway of his and Lois's apartment. He practically flew out of the car and up the stairs. The door banged open and he entered, startling the woman sitting reading her book.

"Hey, Clarkie. Where were you?"

"Out." He strode up to her, lifting her easily out of the chair. Clark kissed her, pressing into her touch. Lois pulled away, confused.

"I'm not complaining, but where is this coming from?" She smiled worriedly. Regaining his composure, he set Lois down and took a deep breath.

"I love you. I love you and only you and it's always going to be you, okay?" Clark said, not sure if he was reassuring himself or Lois. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead, having to lean down to do so.

"I love you too." She tugs him over to the sofa and pushes him down. She then sits beside him and ran her hands through his drying hair. "You're all wet."

"Lois, it was raining." His voice is strained. Frustrated.

"I'm not stupid, Clark. I realize that it was raining." Lois says, rolling her eyes.

"Then why are you accusing me of—"

"I'm not accusing you of anything!" She shouts. Clark glares at her. "Why are you being so—so angry, Clark?"

"I'm not," his voice rising. She stands, face reddening. He stands and walks around the other side of the couch, not turning his back to her.

"There's someone else isn't there? There's someone else, and you slept with her, and you're here trying to clear your conscience—"

"That's not true!" Clark trips on a chair and stumbles back as Lois comes towards him.

"Why are you acting so weird, Clark?" Lois points an angry finger into in muscled chest. She steps away from him and worries a hand through her tousled hair. "I don't understand you. I honestly don't."

Lois storms out of the room and thumps up the stairs to their bedroom. Clark uses his vision to watch what she's doing. Lois is packing a bag. She's leaving him. He flies up the stairs, hurrying to stop her. Lois can't leave him, they were in love. Weren't they?

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Clark?"

"Please don't leave me," he says coming to the bed where she stood. Lois looked up at him as he took her hands, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Tell me what's going on," she pleaded. Clark looked down. How was he supposed to explain what was happening with him, when he himself didn't understand? Lois pressed her lips into a disappointed smile and looked away from his face. "Clark, I love you with all of my heart but—"

"Then stay, please,"' he begged.

"But I think we need to take a break, at least until you figure things out." The tears suddenly spilled over her cheeks, running little rivulets of mascara down them.

"You're really leaving, aren't you," Clark said with a detached kind of resignation. His heart felt like it was being cleaved in two, even though he knew it wasn't. Lois glanced up at him before looking back down at her bag and zipping it slowly closed. Clark grabbed it from her hands and walked to the door and looked down at the pink luggage case. It had a coffee stain on it from when she brought it on a plane as carryon. That was on their one year anniversary and they had been going to Hawaii.

Lois padded softly down the stairs and meekly slid on her coat. She sniffed once before unlocking the door and stepping out. Clark watched as she left him, standing alone in that doorway.

He slammed it closed once the uber pulled away from the building. Growling, he picked up the glass coffee table and overturned it with ease. It shattered. He swept the papers off the counter and tore the drapes off the window. Clark picked up his Superman coffee mug and hesitated. Breathing heavily, he slid down the door and sat against it. Clark looked at that mug and felt tears welling up in his eyes. Dropping the ceramic piece, he dropped his head and sobbed into his arm. Lois was gone. She might not come back. And it was all his fault. Because he loved another man and he couldn't accept it.

His phone pinged. Drying his cheeks on his sleeve, Clark pulls his phone out of his dampened pocket and looks at its screen.

I'm sorry.

 

. . .

 

As soon as Bruce had sent that text, he felt guilty. Clark was probably cuddled up in bed with Lois, while he was at his house, feeling sorry for himself.

"You're pathetic, Bruce," he says standing up from his perch on the roof. He looked out towards the horizon, studying the blues fading into oranges into reds. It was beautiful. But the beautiful things never last.

Checking his phone one last time—with no new texts—he heads in and finds Alfred in the kitchen with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand.

"Oh, Master Wayne, would you mind giving me a hand? It appears I've had an accident," Alfred says lightly, as if it were more than just his hand hurting him.

Bruce calmly walked over and removed the towel. He turned on the sink and washed the dried blood away and sanitized it with some antibacterial spray. Then he gently bandaged Alfred's hand and smiled warmly at the man.

Together, the pair walked in silence towards the Batcave. Work needed to be done.

 

. . .

 

Clark heard the screams before he registered what they were. The sound of human agony snapped him out of his daze. He flew upstairs with superhuman speed and flew out the window fully suited.

Hovering in the air, he pinpointed the screams. Downtown Metropolis. Constant crimes there, he knew.

He tore over there, expecting this to be a quick fix, but found something entirely different. Batman stood in the middle of the alley, batarangs in hand, facing the Joker himself.

"Superman," he acknowledged. "Joker, I thought I put you away for good."

"Nope!" The clown said cheerfully. "I got free! Isn't that just wonderful, Batsy?"

The Joker stood, abandoning the throne of garbage around him. His suit was new, and it was an atrocious violet. His hair was as greasy as ever, tinged green with who-knows-what.

" _Supes_! You're here too!" His voice had cheer but his face twisted into a snarl. "I have a joke for you, wanna hear it? What has a fuse and goes off with a bang?"

"A bomb," the heroes say simultaneously. Batman glances back at Clark, frowning.

"Although, Joker, that was more of a riddle," Batman antagonizes. The Joker looks miffed and hurt at the same time. That guy's range of facial expressions was incredible, Clark thought. He hovered a few feet behind the Bat.

"Well, I thought my joke was funny."

"Where is it?" Clark said, crossing his arms.

"Are they, actually." The clown corrected. Clark rolled his eyes.

The Joker reached down into his pocket, and they both tensed. He pulled out a detonator and a map. He unfurled the map and lay it down on the asphalt, smoothing it out with one hand. It's a map of Metropolis and on it are scattered _X's_ and _O's_.

The Joker pointed at an X. "This here is a bomb. Get it? X? ex-plosion?" He broke out into a fit of laughter. Then as quickly as it started it stopped. "Then here—" Pointed to an O— "Is going to be a murder."

Looking up at the men, he smiled. "And as soon as I pull the pin like _so_ —" He pulls it away from the detector— "You have 30 seconds to stop them all."

Clark was gone with the map in a gust of air. The Joker starts counting. Clark can hear him as he flew around the city, gathering the people and diffusing the bombs.

He listens to the Joker talking to Batman. Based on what the clown says, he knew that the men would come—both of them—and that this was just to separate them. Apparently, the Joker had a bigger more masterful plan in store.

Clark touched back down after depositing everyone at the hospital just as the Joker was getting ready for his finale. Batman hadn't moved.

"Bats, you and I are a dying race. Arch nemeses. We're the last of our kind, you know? Supes here doesn't need you. You're extra. Like the side-kick of everything. He just saved 7 people from murder and dozens more from explosions."

The Bat says nothing.

"So that's why I'm going to get rid of us!"

In the blink of an eye, the Joker spreads his coat, revealing enough C4 to level the block and releases the trigger. Clark does the unexpected. He dives for Batman as fast as he can and flies them sixty feet in the air. The bomb goes off, sending a gust of heat their way.

"Why did you do that?"

"What?" Clark says, even though he heard the other man clearly. Those words were a ghost of those he'd said to Bruce earlier.

"Why did you save me? You could have contained that bomb, saved those buildings. Instead, you saved me. Why?"

"I don't know," Clark said sheepishly.

"Put me down."

"Oh! Sure!" Clark blushed realizing he was holding Batman bridal style. They landed on the roof of a highrise a ways away from the dead zone. Clark could already hear sirens blaring in the distance. Batman sat down on the edge of the flat roof and leaned back on his hands. Clark glanced down at him and stared. After a beat, Batman looked up at him, his gaze blistering. Clark looked away.

"Rough day?" He muttered.

"You have no idea, man." The other man responded looking out to the horizon. They fell into a silence before Clark decided to sit down beside the other man. Batman spoke first.

"I think I'm in love with a man who's in love with another woman. I'm head over heels for this guy, and I don't know what to do."

"Hey, when did this turn into a therapy session," Clark joked, but it fell flat and sounded rude. Batman shut up.

"I'll be going then," Clark said awkwardly. Batman nodded. It was starting to get dark.

He flies away.

 

. . .

 

_Hey, would you happen to be free tonight?_

The text came in as Bruce was about to step into the shower.

'I'm free. What's up?'

_Lois left. I want to get drunk because I feel like shit._

'I'm down. I'll meet you at your place?'

_Yeah. See you there._  
_I mean here._  
_You know what I mean._

Bruce smiled down at his phone. Clark was such a dork. But he was a dork he was head over heels for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce kiss, leading to some angst. Alfred gives some wise advice and Lois leaves Clark. The Joker kills himself trying to kill Batman with him but fails. Batman confesses his undying love to Superman without telling Clark who. Clark asks Bruce on a date that's not a date.
> 
> Hey guys! This chapter is really long. I hope it makes up for the other short ones. Let me know what you think, okay?
> 
> Jordan.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Let me know what you think!


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